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John Petrucci Has Eight Fingers on Each Hand -- A Seussian Ode

John Petrucci has eight fingers on each hand
What’s that you say? You don’t understand?
I’ll say it again – John Petrucci has eight fingers on each hand.
He played “Under a Glass Moon” like an octopus with long hair,
He played “Hell’s Kitchen” like a squid with a stare
That causes lesser guitarists to go weak at the knees,
And reset their sights on solos from Squeeze.

My Grandpa George once said, “John Petrucci? Bah! He’s really just fair.
He’s not Clapton, or Satch, or anyone in Slayer.”
My only reply was a shake of my head,
And a heads-up to Gramps that it was eight o’clock — time for bed.
Up he went for the night, but he came down not long after
With a spooked look on his face and an odd kind of laughter.
He said, “John Petrucci just visited me in my dreams.
He flew down on an Ibanez possessed of golden strings.
Then he played a solo that plucked the hair from my chest,
And conjured up three leprechauns in green leather vests,
Followed by unicorns, and dragons, and wizards galore,
And a topless biker chick who came and kicked down my door.
It was the most beautiful thing, you must understand,
And at the end of it all he showed me his hands.”

With a smile on my face I said, “Let me guess – eight fingers there were?”
To which my grandpa replied, “Yes, my boy, yes – and then it became quite a blur.
For all of the guitarists I ever did see,
The Vais and the Johnsons and even guys named CC,
Rushed into his pinky and pulled up a chair,
While John Petrucci played every solo they’d ever shared,
Only he played them backwards – and on one leg.”

John Petrucci has eight fingers on each hand
What’s that you say? You don’t understand?
I’ll say it again – John Petrucci has eight fingers on each hand.
He played “Under a Glass Moon” like an octopus with long hair,
He played “Hell’s Kitchen” like a squid with a stare
That causes lesser guitarists to go weak at the knees,
And reset their sights on solos from Squeeze.

My Grandpa George once said, “John Petrucci? Bah! He’s really just fair.
He’s not Clapton, or Satch, or anyone in Slayer.”
My only reply was a shake of my head,
And a heads-up to Gramps that it was eight o’clock — time for bed.
Up he went for the night, but he came down not long after
With a spooked look on his face and an odd kind of laughter.
He said, “John Petrucci just visited me in my dreams.
He flew down on an Ibanez possessed of golden strings.
Then he played a solo that plucked the hair from my chest,
And conjured up three leprechauns in green leather vests,
Followed by unicorns, and dragons, and wizards galore,
And a topless biker chick who came and kicked down my door.
It was the most beautiful thing, you must understand,
And at the end of it all he showed me his hands.”

With a smile on my face I said, “Let me guess – eight fingers there were?”
To which my grandpa replied, “Yes, my boy, yes – and then it became quite a blur.
For all of the guitarists I ever did see,
The Vais and the Johnsons and even guys named CC,
Rushed into his pinky and pulled up a chair,
While John Petrucci played every solo they’d ever shared,
Only he played them backwards – and on one leg.”

That was a very creative poem. I am a writer myself and I really appreciate mental images. It sort of reminded me of "The Cremation of Sam McGee" and "A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings". JP should put this on his web site.

Try a Devil went down to Georgia style melody. And get Ian Anderson to play fife for you. And don't forget the cowbell ! We need more cowbell !!! I thought it was great. I wish I was stoned, cause I think I'd still be on the floor LMFAO. I work out.